


Where the sun isn't allowed

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy, Melanie Martinez (Musician), Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Blood, Decapitation, Fear, Heathens, Humiliation, Imprisonment, Isle of Flightless Birds, Jail, Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Now you know, Overdose, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, The host is strange, crybaby, executions, hang, tags will be added as the story goes on, they all die...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-10-16 08:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10567905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They give back what you take, they get revenge in pain, they laugh when you cry, but they think it's okay. After all, you killed someone, maybe more than one person. So you take a life, they give you death. It's okay, it's equivalent. Equivalence is better than empathy, right ?Tyler disagrees. But he doesn't have a say anyway.Today, the sun isn't here.





	1. They discover the end

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my little flightless birds ! Let's discover, together, what "End" means here !

_Today, the sun isn’t here._

 

          He remembers the first day he put a foot on the gray tiles of the giant jail. He remembers how they shoved him down many stairs, stained with water, sweat and what smelled like pee. He remembers how every new step was tiring him, how he was feeling more and more underwater, going six feet under the solid ground. He remembers the faces of the guards, seeing them despite their helmets, black as coal. He remembers cold eyes covered by thin black and transparent plastic, he remembers gray and blonde, maybe dirty blonde, hair falling freely under the helmets, on the black jackets, bulletproof clothes. And he remembers them, with one hand gripping strongly on their arms and the other holding firmly black guns while looking at him like he was the worst criminal they’ve ever seen. And truthfully, Tyler couldn’t remember what he did to deserve such treatment, a behavior like this one. He could struggle, but he was scared. He could scream, but he was alone. He searched in his memory for long enough to find one sound, his brother’s voice, whispering inaudible words. Tyler, at the time, couldn’t remember what it was all about.  
          And he still can’t find any answer. He’s put in a cell, strongly, without any humanity, he’s thrown into a gray and black cell, colorless room with only two beds, one chair, one desk and what looks like a tainted window. Gray glass blocking his view, he tries to reach for the bar but it’s too far, too high. He sighs and waits. For something, anything. Maybe a sound, maybe a person, someone that could wake him up, someone that could explain everything, anything that is happening right now.  
          As if someone listened his thoughts, an alarm goes off, sending strident screeches and red waves of light around him. His call’s gates open slowly. He stands up, intrigued, and follows the voices around him, resonating in the gray and black corridors. He sees silhouettes, colorless clothes, messy haircuts and scared grimaces. The fearful figures walk, slowly, whispering threats and bets about who they are going to lose today. Tyler follows them, loses every repairs in the sea of other people. He walks in silence, fears the end of the hallway. He enters a giant room, with an iron stage in the center. Tyler watches as cameras fly around them, zoom on their red faces, show surely to the world their march. Suddenly, he stops. The gates behind him close, and he is hit by a wave of chattering and joyful people, on the other side of the stage. They smile, they cheer, they laugh. They all seem happy, well-dressed, with expensive dresses, shirts, pants, with colorful hats and feathers on their heads, gloves on their hands. They look rich, happy, almost enthusiastic. Tyler relaxes, feels relief curse through his veins. Maybe, just maybe, it isn’t that bad. It can’t be that bad when people are happy, he thinks.

“Hello, my little flightless birds, how are you all going today ?”

          No cheers but smiles and waves of covered hands from the other crowd. Tyler doesn’t move, seeing everyone around him tense. He looks ate the stage, doesn’t change the place of his piercing gaze.

“You all know why we are here today, so let’s not waste time anymore ! Welcome the new heathen !”

          And suddenly, Tyler knows something’s off with this performance. The smile is too big, the hands are shaking, the eyes are lying. Everyone around him looks down, curses, cries silently. The cameras zoom on the man’s face on stage. He seems little, with a long beard, ginger hair. He’s scared, doesn’t want to be here. He asks something, mouths to the audience of gray people in front of him, but no one answers. Tyler knows, knows something’s not right on stage. Nothing can be right when an electric chair stands in the center, a deathly throne, made of burned wood and metal plaques, with red wires and dripping water. They push discretely the ginger mouse on the seat and attach him. Tyler wants to yell but nothing comes out of his throat. He just stands there, in the sea of gray people, watching as the man sits, tries to escape, hits the wires. He yells at the cameras, becomes suddenly aware of what’s gonna happen. They put a wet tissue on his mouth, attach his neck, throw the helmet made of iron and burned hair on his head. The host smiles.

“Henry, our dear Henry, always dreamed of feeling free. Our little ginger mouse, wishing for nothing, will, after killing his beloved mother, receiver what should have been given to him since his birth,” the man smiles and, with wrinkles covering his eyes, he goes to an iron lever and puts his hand on it.  
“Cheer, my flightless birds, we’re killing our issues today.” He chants, pulling down the lever. Tyler closes his eyes.

          The corpse convulses on the chair. Jumps up and down, under the cheers and the fire on his face. His eyes widen, tears evaporate on his eyes, blood escapes his nose, stains the tissue, drops down his ears, his eyes. He spasms, he shakes. No sounds come from his mouth. Slowly, the sparks become fireflies, flying around, burning his hair, his fingers, every inch of his skin. And, after what seems like hours, the body finally stops moving. Tyler doesn’t dare to move, doesn’t dare to look up. He knows, by the sounds, that they are moving the body, that it all ends now. He doesn’t look up at the corpse, doesn't move. He only listens to the final speech of the host, only listens to the applauds the man gets, to the sobs, the cries, the whispers, the shudders, the insults around him. He doesn’t look up when they all start moving, doesn’t look up when a camera zoom on his face, looking at him like he’ll be the next one on stage. He never looks up. Not in the corridor, outside the place, not in his cell. He keeps his eyes closed, even when a hand slowly rubs his shoulders, even when a deep voice soothes him.

“You’re okay, don’t worry. Don’t cry,” whispers the man. “You’re fine, you’re safe. Don’t cry, please.”

          Tyler didn’t know he was crying until now. It takes him a minute to stop. He silently sobs. He shudders.

“I saw him,” Tyler whispers.  
“I know.”  
“I saw a man die without knowing him.”  
“Don’t worry. It’s alright now.”

          Tyler knows it isn’t alright here. He knows. But he doesn’t dare to say anything. He lets his shoulders fall.

“I’m Josh,” the man says. “What’s your name ?”  
“Tyler,” Tyler answers briefly.  
“Why are you here ?”

          It takes a minute for Tyler to think about what Josh said. Yet, after searching in his head for a reason, he doesn’t find any.

“I don’t know,” Tyler whispers, hesitant.

          Tyler panics. Josh looks, confused, at him. He honeslty doesn't know.


	2. They understand this new place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my little Flightless birds ! Let's see, together, what the future holds for those who wander !

"So, Tyler, how do you feel ?" 

  
          Tyler looks up, watching people passing by, food in hands, talking normally, almost happily. This place feels, for the first time, right. He looks at Josh, taking in the many little details of his pale face.

  
“I’m not sure. This place feels too joyful for a, well, jail.”  
“It’s okay, it’s because there can’t be any executions when we eat,” answers Melanie, mouth full of beef.  
“Why ?”  
“Oh it’s simple, really. People just stay calm as long as they have something in mouth.”  
“You mean in mind.”  
“No, in mouth. You don’t think here, you just take and take and take,” Melanie scoffs. “You can’t think when you’re doomed.”

  
          Tyler says nothing after that. He sighs and looks at Melanie as she goes back to her meat, eating quickly, like she didn’t eat anything since days. She puts back her black hairs behind her ear, letting the other half of faded blue hair fall on her shoulder. Tyler takes in her appearance. Small woman, always smiling despite her dark and deep conversations. Her brown eyes look happily at her meat, her thin hands playing with her fork. Tyler suppresses a laugh.  
          He then looks at Brendon, just aside Melanie. He eats slowly, talking to Pete. Brendon is taller than Pete, with dark hair and eyes, and a forehead so big it could reflect the sun if there were one down here, Tyler thinks. Pete, him, is smaller and thinner. He has brown and short hair covering his tan head, and honey eyes watching peacefully the place every now and then. Pete suddenly turns around and kisses Patrick smoothly before going back to his discussion with Brendon.  
          Tyler smiles as Patrick blushes slightly, eating his meal with shaking hands. The small ma,’s little smile seems true, too true for this place. He eats calmly, quietly looking at his food with dear brown eyes, eyes that wouldn’t look away or make a too long contact with someone. He looks like a child with his hand holding Pete’s pinky, slowly rubbing it with his thumb. Tyler thinks that of all of them, Patrick is the only one that shouldn’t be here.  
          Tyler goes back to his meal too. He takes his fork and his plastic knife and cuts his squishy beef, wishing secretly the meat on his fork to be a piece of tacos, ones that he used to eat back in Columbus. The sound around him slowly fades as people go back to their cells. Soon, they are the only one left in the self room. They all stand up and go back to their cells, hugging each others.

  
“We’ll see each others soon, after work, okay ?”  
“Don’t worry Bren, everyone’s gonna be okay.”

  
          They all sound false now, out of the self room, feeling miserable under the prying eyes of the cameras and the guards. They feel danger on their necks, dangerous hands cutting their skins. And, despite the kind words of Brendon and Pete, always the same after every lunch, they always sound hopeless. And sometimes, Tyler can hear the despair in Patrick’s sighs. So he lets them talk a little, feeling naked under the guards’ eyes, so he just waits for them to end their usual little dialogue. After that, Josh takes his hand, his right hand, and walks back to their shared cell. They close the doors, transparent doors, and wait for a new alarm or for work time. It can take one minute like it can take two hours before something finally happens. And sometimes, Tyler wishes the silence around them could break, and other times, Tyler wishes that not any sounds were made, disturbing his peaceful state in which only Josh could say something.  
          A guard comes today, after only twenty minutes. He forces Josh to go to the weapon’s room and pushes Tyler to the self room.

  
“You’ll be alright Tyler, don’t worry. I’ll see you soon,” Josh whispers. He sounds off, unsure of his words. “Just don’t let anyone hurt you. If they do, don’t move. Just let it be. You won’t be punished if you do nothing.”

  
          It hurts Josh to say such awful things. He feels terrible. But Tyler understands, he knows Josh’s right. He’s already been beaten once, in only a week. And, by doing nothing, he’s been safe. Yet, even if he’s still hear, standing, he feels heartless for letting the other prisoner die in front of his own little eyes, punished in another terrible way, cameras watching, crowd cheering as his blood slowly drips to the ground. He didn’t even know his name.

  
“I’ll be okay Josh. Look out for you instead.”  
“I’ll be fine.”

  
          Josh kisses Tyler’s forehead softly before going to the weapon’s room. Tyler walks slowly to the self room, watching carefully his surroundings. Everything feels bigger, darker when he’s alone, without Josh or the others. He fears the dark corners, fears his own steps. He enters the self room cautiously, looking at prisoners already cleaning the giant room. He takes a sponge and starts to clean the tables. After what seems like an hour, he starts to hum, smiling for himself. He doesn’t look behind when he hears footsteps coming his way. He doesn’t recognize them and flinches when he feels a hand on his back. He turns around and looks fearfully at the man. He feels his heart skip a beat. He gags and looks down.

  
“What’s the matter, Tyler ?” the man asks. Tyler Doesn’t answer, doesn’t loop up. Horrible images fill his mind. “Look at me when I talk to you,” the man orders firmly. Tyler jerks his head up and looks at the man’s gray almond eyes. He feels tears at the edge of his eyes, threatening to fall at every moment.  
“Nothing, sir,” Tyler answers weakly.  
“Then why were you humming ?”  
“F-For nothing,” stutters the suddenly small prisoner.  
“If it’s nothing,” the general smiles, “I want you to shut up and work faster.”  
“Ye-Yes, sir,” stammers Tyler.  
“Good,” the man laughs. Not darkly, but joyfully. Tyler gags again. “Good,” he seems truly happy.

  
           The man goes back to his place, behind the doors. He looks at the prisoners working in the self room. The air becomes heavier with every passing second. They all tense, look around them. Paranoia in their eyes, their heads, they all suddenly fear the alarm more than before. Tyler goes back to his sponge and works faster, shaking. His head spins, his hands can't hold the sponge as strongly and correctly as before. He can't see anything behind his wet eyes. And, behind his back, he feels the host’s eyes burning his skin. Strangely, he can hear in his mind his demonic voice announcing his future execution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola.  
> How are you ? Hope you're doing well.  
> I don't really like this chapter, it's more of a filler than anything else. No action, just the presentation of Melanie/Brendon/Pete/Patrick's characters. They'll all have a moment in this fic. And I really, really like writing those moments. Hé hé.  
> Right now, the presidential, where you vote for the next president in France, are about to start. All the posters of the candidates' faces are glued to the ugly walls of my ugly little city, and I really want to draw on them. Don't know why.  
> Well, I hope you liked it anyway.  
> Sur ce, see you next saturday if I don't get lost somewhere ~


	3. They see through their own tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my little flightless birds ! Let's see, together, what happens when our world gets darker !

          The silence is omnipresent, stroking every inch of their skin, defying them to speak, to move, to break it with their voices. They both wait here, in the middle of the self room, surrounded by sponges and clear water. One is sure, proud, as threatening as a dog, the other insecure, scared, as little as a rabbit. They look at each other, wait for one of them to talk. The general sighs and starts to walk away. Tyler flinches, hisses under his breath. He panics for a second and runs, following the intimidating man walking away.

“What did I do ?” Yells Tyler. “Why am I here ?”

          The general stops, not turning back. Tyler stays away, far enough for him to run, run like the frail rabbit he is against the terrible dog with sharp teeth. Tyler shudders when the general’s voice resonates in the now empty self room. And if the room weren’t so cold, he would have swore he just felt Death crawling down his spine.

“You did something,” affirms the general. “Everyone here did something. And you know what’s funny, here ? Their crimes,” the general smiles genuinely. He walks backwards, hands behind his back, almost dancing like a child. He never turns his back to Tyler. “It always involves murder.”

          The voice echoes, hits the white and gray walls, and bleeds out Tyler’s ears. The doors close slowly, so slowly, slower than Tyler’s thoughts close on his mind. He hyperventilates, falls on the ground, soaking his knees with water and soap. And he stays. He stays, weakly, on the ground as he sees blurry objects moving around him, as he feels his eyes close, heavy eyelids weaker than ever, not even in a tired state. And for an instant, a slight moment, he can feel water around his hands, he can hear a voice, tedious, dull under water.

“Tyler !”

          His head jerks up. He doesn’t hyperventilate anymore. Josh stands here, with the voice of a kid, and takes his hand. They run. Tyler suddenly sees the red lights dancing on the dark walls, he hears the strident sound of the alarm. He feels the rush of panic in the prisoners around him, he suffocates, he sweats, feels like he’s drowning under all these bodies, heavy prisoners with heavy crimes on their shoulders. Josh trips, almost falls. He steadies himself, a little lost, then looks at Tyler. Tyler is scared, he can see that. In his eyes, the way he runs, the way he falls, he can see all of that. He can sense the panic and the apprehension. Josh sniffs, feeling fear and what seems like hatred taking place in his mind. He firmly takes Tyler’s hands. He doesn’t want him to feel scared. He knows he can’t stop that, he knows that deep down, they all are already marked, scarred, even Tyler, but he wants to save and protect him anyway.  
          So they run. They don’t walk, they don’t stop, they can’t. They run. They don’t know why, they don’t want to know anyway, but they run. Tyler gags again. His feet stop suddenly when he sees it. The stage, already prepared, with cameras flying and rich cheering. He sees a woman, in a too clean dress, with short and dyed blue hair, sitting down on her knees, watching everyone around her with hatred. She yells at the public, spats hateful words, tries to hit the cameras, spits on the ground, insults the general, rage reddening her cheeks. The general doesn’t laugh this time, a look of disgust harboring his eyes. He scoffs, walks, mic in hand. Silence falls as he climbs the four steps leading to the stage. Only the woman’s screams resonate. The other crowd behind her smiles.

“Did you know, my cute little flightless birds, that a woman is as useless as a rotting dog ?”

          Tyler feels disgust in his heart. He shakes his head, gritting his teeth. Josh feels anger burning his skin, his cheeks red as he sees the audience on the other side, all nodding silently. Puppets.

“And do you know what we do to dogs that disobeyed their owners by choking them ?”  
“He was abusive, you fucking retard !” The woman yells, kicking the ground furiously, screaming louder. “Abusive and misogynist piece of shit, just like you !”

          She keeps on screaming, yelling profanities at the general, at the audience. They all look offended, they all scoff. (What a dirty girl) says a middle-aged woman under her white hat. (Kill the dog !) says a young man as his friends laugh viciously. It keeps on and on and on. Their voices mix, Tyler doesn’t recognize understand any of them. On his side, however, everything is silent. They look down, as straight and still as tombstones. The host laughs on the mic. Silence falls again.

“What a bad dog that wants to see true light again deserves is only...”

          The general takes two silver spoons and, smiling at the cameras in front of him, he goes to the woman and puts the two spoons under her eyes. She jerks away, tries to move, but her head is attached. She closes her eyes, firmly, suddenly crying. She begs.

“To lose its sight and bleed until death.”

          The spoons slowly, very slowly, penetrate the eyes, under the white spheres. The woman screams, pain piercing her head. Awful voice cutting the silence, screaming, making every prisoner cry. Tyler wants to close his eyes, but he can’t. Josh cries, gags. Brendon vomits. Melanie begs for them to stop. Pete and Patrick hug each other, pleading Melanie to stay silent. They all look. Look shamefully, as the white orbits, bloodshot, fall and roll on the ground, leaving only rivers of blood and black holes in a deformed face. The woman doesn’t move anymore. Her tears disappear under the bloody trails on her cheeks. She suffers silently, not screaming, suddenly moving and reaching for where her eyes were seconds ago. The general throws her on the ground, laughing hysterically as she searches. She finds one orbit, tries to put it back, cries even more as pain burns her entire face. The host walks to her and, with a sharp knife made of iron and dried blood, he stabs her repeatedly on her shoulders, looking at the disgusted crowd. Tyler falls on his knees, making Josh panic as he can’t feel Tyler’s hand anymore. They both bawl and wait for the general to stop. It takes a minute for him to stop, and five for her to die, bleeding blindly to her disgraceful death. Her dress isn’t clean anymore, her hair sticks to her soaked forehead, her red cheeks look pale. Her traits aren’t ones of a woman anymore. The gates open behind the stage, the colorful crowd goes away, jumping on their feet, smiling at the cameras. What a beautiful show.  
          Tyler slowly stands up, taking Josh’s shaking hands in his. They quietly walk back, holding their frail bodies, watching the other prisoners, as tangible and weak as them. They go back to their cells in silence, under the glassy eyes of the flying cameras, fearing every guards at every corner. Melanie takes Brendon’s hands and walk shakily to their own cells, waving silently at the others. They don’t look back. Pete and Patrick don’t say a word either, just look at the ceiling, as gray as a starry night they forgot a long time ago. They walk, almost limp, to what they call their shared bedroom. Josh and Tyler keep on walking weakly, studying discretely the white and black guards. Soon, no one is here anymore, and the usual sound of feet hitting the ground is replaced by the soft sobs coming from the Grand-Place. Tyler, on his bed, thinks he can hear Josh’s tears hitting his faded tattoo.

“I knew her, Tyler. Halsey, I knew her. We came here at the same time,” he whispers, holding on his shirt tightly. Tyler doesn’t move.  
“Since when ?” Tyler asks carefully, not wanting to break Josh even more.  
“I don’t- I don’t know, I don’t remember. I was younger, so, so younger,” he stammers on his bed. “I don’t even know my actual age.”  
“How old were you ?” Tyler asks, voice low, fearing the answer.  
“Twenty one, maybe half, I-” he sobs violently.  
“When were you born ?” Tyler’s voice is only a whisper now, an ambient sound. He’s scared.  
“...1988, June.” Tyler gasps, his eyes wide.  
“Josh… It’s 2017 now.”  
“A-And ?”

          Tyler hesitates. Josh realizes slowly. He cries too much now, it resonates in their shared cell. They both know. Tyler moves closer to Josh, holds him in his arms. Tyler’s heart hurts too much. It’s too sharp, too strong for him. They both stay silent as the day ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour ~  
> I told you I would make it more interesting. And it's not even the worst. I really tried. And I kinda like this one.  
> I had to post it sooner, I'll go for a certain amount of time. But we're not here to talk about that.  
> By the way, did you see that it's the host talking during the chapters summaries ? I think I'll do that to the serie summary too, I don't really like it right now. I'm searching, I'm searching.  
> Anyway, did you like it ? I don't like to ask that, but please, give me your opinion, I really like to hear (read) everything.  
> Thank you so much for reading this and staying with me, even if you're just a few. I love you all ~  
> Sur ce, buh-bye !
> 
> Wattpad : Calixxe


	4. They make their love a mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my little flightless birds ! Let's see, again, that love is just a pain !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titles and summaries are hints. Hé hé ~

“So, how did you meet ? I mean, if it’s not bothering you...”  
“Oh, no, we’re always happy to talk about that with others !” Beams Pete. He looks lovingly at Patrick, waiting for him to continue. Patrick nods.  
“Yeah, it puts a little light in this hellhole, you see,” Patrick says quietly, wisely. Tyler nods, waiting for the story. Josh smiles slightly. He knows the story. Even if it’s sad, it’s a beautiful one. It sounds like Romeo and Juliet when you think about it. And it makes every prisoner dreams after hearing it.  
“We were together a long time ago, at school. I was twelve, he was eleven, it was about twenty years ago. Not far away from Los Angeles. We started to talk because I was being bullied by some assholes, you know, it happens a lot in big schools like those. So we met and talked, we quickly became best friends. We were only two, and we were happy-”  
“But the bullying didn’t stop,” cuts Pete. “I was too weak to protect him. I tried, but I was always pushed aside. I was too frail at the time, too much of a coward...” Pete whispers, his voice shaking. Patrick takes him in his arms, kindly stroking his arms. The ghost of a smile appears on Pete’s face. Tyler sighs happily, seeing them lovingly together.  
“You were perfect, Pete. You helped as much as you could, and I can’t thank you enough for that. Without you, I wouldn’t be here,” Patrick sighs reassuringly. Pete’s smile becomes brighter. Tyler doesn’t know if he has to feel happy about that or not. “So we stayed together until the end of school. We started to date after my fifteenth birthday. We waited, and waited, and waited, we were twenty-two and twenty-three when we came back to school to see our old teachers, how it changed,” Patrick chants excitedly.

Suddenly, Tyler feels something inside him, something yelling at him that the story isn’t right, that there’s something false, too wrong, hiding behind Patrick’s words. He doesn’t want to know the end of the story anymore. Josh, feeling Tyler’s apprehension, takes his hand reassuringly. He knows the story, he knows how it ends, he knows the reaction Tyler will have. And he knows how his thoughts will race and change, not seeing the lovely couple like before anymore. He doesn’t hear Patrick’s story, only focusing on Tyler, his face, seeing his eyes express regret and hesitation. Patrick doesn’t see that. Pete knows, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t care anymore.

“Our faces were covered with ski masks, I had a white one with black dots and Pete had a blue one. We had guns, big ones, with music blasting from our speakers. Our own music. It was called “Sugar, we’re going down”. You should listen to it once you’re out of here,” Patrick beams, hope in his voice. Tyler doesn’t know if he should feel hope, too. “So we went outside, where I used to be beaten up. There were teachers and children our age at the time I was still there. They were maybe ten or eleven. So we shot, many times. Pete was laughing, I remember. He seemed happy. I was, too. But not for the same reason. He wanted to kill while I just carved revenge. At the end, we killed four teachers and nine kids. One of the teachers was one I had before. She was kind, I still regret killing her. But the others were new and seemed stupid. Same goes for the children. So I don’t really care,” Patrick’s ends nonchalantly. “It was okay. We became famous after that. And we’re still together now.”

Tyler looks widely at them. They kiss then look back at Tyler, waiting for a reaction. Tyler turns to Josh, asking for help. He can’t breathe. Josh soothes him discretely, wraps his arms around his thin silhouette Pete smiles. It’s a game for him. Tyler, calming down, says heavily :

“That-that’s cute. C-Congratulations,” he stutters.

Patrick thanks him, Pete smiles. He shakes Tyler’s hands, like he just received his approval, his blessing. Tyler just feels blood and plastic on his hands. He never felt a hand as cold and fake. He jerks his hand away and stands up, asking Josh to follow him. Josh waves at Patrick and Pete from behind, caring for Tyler. They go back to their cell and sit down. Tyler sighs heavily. He looks at the ceiling, stretching his arms, letting his legs hang loosely at the side of his bed.

“Why do they look so happy ?” Questions Tyler. A rhetoric question Josh doesn’t answer. “Why does killing innocent people look so good for them ?”  
“I don’t know, Tyler.”  
“Me neither-”

They’re cut. Cut by a sound they know, a sound they recognize, with the same pattern of colors, of notes, of rhythm. One, two, wait, three, four, wait. One, two, wait, three, four, wait. Again and again. Their door opens violently. They stand up, take each others’ hands, and run. They trip, they look around fearfully, searching for their friends. Brendon is on the ground, crying for help. Melanie tries to help him, pushing everyone, screaming for help. Josh lets go of Tyler’s hand and runs to her, Tyler tries to follow. Bot the crowd gets him, he floats in the middle of too much corpses, he feels under water. He screams Josh’s name, but his voice is drowned. He panics and closes his eyes. His face is buried in his own arms, he tries to walk, to follow the wave without falling. And, finally, every sound stops. The light, the sickening red, the deadly and monstrous alarm, they all stop. Tyler carefully opens his eyes, searching around him for Josh. But as soon as he sees the stage, he can’t look away. Patrick is here, guitars strings around his throat, not moving. He looks frightened, searching foe someone, Pete. He can’t scream, he can’t move, only feel the wind of the cameras flying, zooming on his tight throat. He sweats and shudders, feeling cold, feeling scared. The general arrives, climbs the steps, comes on stage, training Pete behind him. Pete screams, yelps, calls Patrick repeatedly. He looks like a frightened dog. Tyler doesn’t have to wait for the host to say anything to know what will happen. He feels bile boiling in his stomach. He becomes pale.

“Good afternoon, my little flightless birds. Today, we’re talking drama. Today, and I know you like that,” he sighs, voice deep and full of lust. “We’re talking doomed love.”

The cheers seem to suffocate everyone. Every prisoners know the two lovers standing cowardly on the iron stage of the Grand-Place, lights blinding their bloodshot eyes from crying too much. Everyone, every breathing living here, knows their story, their strong love, and for the first time since forever, this is not fear that buzzes in everyone’s ears, but empathy, and what everyone is ashamed of called pity. They look down, breathing heavily, sweat burning every hole in their skin. And they wait.

“But, as a special gift, one of them will live. One will die, suffering like no other day, and one will live,” the general chants. The other crowd cheers, chanting in unison, making an ode to the monster they call king. Patrick begs, Pete, begs, they both ridiculously plead and pray for the general to save their loved one. But the host only smirks, an almost child-like face covering his skin. “But they don’t get the chance to choose. Let’s not give to a murderer the chance to love.”

Pete and Patrick’s faces fall, decompose. They both look blankly, almost surprised, at the general. They both knew, from the very beginning, that nothing would go their way. But they hoped for at least recognition, respect, hope, and more time, time to think, time to make love one last time on their dirty beds full of aids and bugs. They prayed God at night, but what God would save people who killed the children they should love ? None, they learned. None. God doesn’t even exist in this place.

“Let’s not wait any longer !”

Pete should have known, he should have seen it coming, because he was standing, and Patrick was sitting, guitar’s strings around his fragile neck. He should have seen the blood already dripping, like the deadly crown around Jesus’ head. He should have seen that, after all, he was the one who will live, because his favorite thing is Patrick and not music like his lover. He should have known that lying couldn’t couldn’t be the good answer, that dying could have been better than seeing Patrick suffocates, cut throat, with the stringless guitar at his feet, the guitar they played so much with. So Patrick slowly dies, loosing breath, loosing sight of his lover, assassinated by the strings he stroked so much, almost as much as Pete’s hair. And as Patrick’s screams are replaced by groans, then nothing, Pete tried to crawl, to save the one he dreams about every night, in vain. The hands around his shoulders seem almost as painful as the cut throat in front of him. And that’s when it stops, when the struggle finally comes to an end, when Patrick’s head falls, rolls, and touches his feet, eyes wide opened, saliva dripping along with blood, blue skin, cold, that Pete yells, that he falls, too, that he looks like the animal he should have been, not the human he is. Because being an animal would have been easier, as quiet as the cool wind he used to feel at night, in his shared apartment with Patrick. Pete groans, and with the loss of his love is the loss of every form of humanity he ever had.  
Tyler feels his feet slip, then his legs, his entire body, and while he doesn’t throw up, he feels like the world threw up truth and reality on his face, covering his entire body with what he never wanted to feel. His face hits the concrete, he hears voices, then nothing. Tyler’s black vision is what it now looks like inside Pete’s heart. Empty, nothingness surrounding everything, with the blaring sound of what chaos sounds like.  
They all cheer and applaud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ~  
> Are you all a-okay ? I hope so. I don't like to see sad people.  
> I hope you liked this chapter. And I'm sorry for this. I really like those characters (Pete and Patrick) and I could have done better with them, more chapters, but it's all just a giant plan. Here, as readers, you're not on Tyler's side. You're with the other crowd. Basically, readers and me, as a writer, we are the monsters watching them die without really knowing them. I like it. Every reader has a job in every story. Here, it's wait, take, and see. Come again tomorrw.  
> Anyway, I hope you liked it. See you next time.  
> Suc ce, buh-bye ~


	5. They like to drown their sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my little flightless birds ! Let’s feel it, the regret you gain because of the mistakes you’ve made !

“Tyler, Tyler ! Catch me if you can !”

          The voice seems familiar. Voice of a boy, around his fifteen, bright and joyful voice. The boy laughs, Tyler’s heart flutters inside his chest. He tries to see, but only a blurry version of a boy appears. Then a beach, white sand, the sea not far away, a woman sitting behind, smiling at a younger girl poking a crab with a stick, her hair flying with the wind. Tyler tries to laugh, too, but he can’t, his throat tight, he feels like claws are replacing his rib cage. He follows the boy, runs after him, touches his wrists, but the boy his faster, runs to the sea, far enough for him to swim, he can’t touch the ground anymore. The mother goes back to her book, her hat hiding her face from the sun. She laughs quietly at the giggles of her daughter. Tyler looks frantically at her figure, watching if she doesn’t look. He walks in the water, wetting from his feet to his waist. The coldness of the water makes his back shiver.

“Tyler, Tyler ! Look, I can swim now !”

          And as if on cue, the boy’s face appears in front of him, the boy floating ungracefully on his back, face looking admirably at Tyler, like he’s waiting for him to agree. Tyler’s hands go to stroke the boy’s hair, slowly, the boy seems happy. But everything becomes violent. Water covers his hands, his entire arms, almost touches his nose, and he feels his fingers dig into something solid and wet, like skin and flesh. And he is suddenly aware of the struggle under him, the hands gripping in vain at his forearms, and the bubbles, the underwater begs, the woman’s screams, running to him. But he doesn’t let go, he can’t. Yet, he doesn’t feel anything. No empathy, no guilt nor regret, nothing.

“Tyler, let go of him ! You’re gonna dro-”

          His eyes shot open, closing again at the blinding light coming from the dusty lamp above his bed. He groans, rolling on his bed, covering his face with the little sheet he has. Useless. Josh laughs. It sounds bitter, tragic, and makes his mouth dry, but he laughs anyway. And even if it sounds false, it makes Tyler feel better. After all, the only ones laughing here are Pete and Patrick. Pete. Patrick.  
          Tyler bolts up, jerking out of his bed. He looks at Josh, anticipation printed on his face. Josh is pale, paler than he’s ever seen him be. His eyes are glassy, his wrists are red, and if the lights weren’t so bright, he would have swore that, instead of shadows, it was blood dripping along his fingers.

“Josh, Pete and Patrick are...” Tyler’s voice is wheezy.  
“They’re not here anymore, Tyler,” Josh stiffens on his bed, “You saw it,” he laments, his voice breaking. Tyler’s heart breaks along with it.  
“I-” Tyler suddenly can’t talk, can’t form a proper sentence. He feels sorrowful. “I wish I didn’t.”  
“Don’t we all ?” It was meant to sound tough, almost angry, but it came out as weak, frail, a little voice covering the walls with its despair.

          Tyler sobs quietly. Tyler snivels quietly, looking like a kid. He walks to Josh, hugs him hesitantly. Josh places his face into Tyler’s neck, breathing in his calming sent. Burned wood and leaves. His hands smell like chlorine, by habit of cleaning the same tables every day. Josh doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

“They were the only lights here, Tyler. Always smiling, always hoping for everyone to get out of here alive. Now, the only lights illuminating our path come from cheap bulbs hanging from the ceiling,” Josh sniffles, sobs, wetting Tyler’s shirt. It doesn’t feel romantic, it feels uncomfortable for the both of them, but they can’t care anymore. “We should be the ones hanging, not those stupid lights replacing the sun that should burn our skin,” Josh blurts accusingly. Tyler doesn’t contradict Josh. He, too, wishes he could be hanging instead of being here. And he, too, wishes he could see the sun instead of those light-bulbs falsely illuminating them.  
“It’s okay, Josh, it’ll be fine,” reassures Tyler. Josh doesn’t have the time to say anything as their door opens, sliding violently. Guards are here, waiting for them.  
“Joshua, you’ll be cleaning the hall. Tyler, you’ll be cleaning the self,” one of the guards orders firmly.

          They walk out of their non-intimate cell and, smiling weakly, they take their separate ways. Josh walks slowly to the hall, feeling his legs heavier than before, his heart pounding irregularly in his tight chest. He wheezes, breathes heavily. His head hurts, he feels nauseous, his fever gets worse, his migraines become stronger and stronger as time passes. But he keeps on walking, feeling like a naked slave under the spying eyes of the cameras at every corner. If he weren’t scratching his wrists right now, he would have swore they were handcuffed. He sniffles, feeling the tears at the edge of his almond eyes, already soaking his short eyelashes. And, as he passes a guard, he looks down, already knowing that, whatever he does, he’ll always look defeated even if he tries not to. Because he knows, someday, him and Tyler will be the next.   
          Tyler feels little in the corridors, letting his heavy feet stamp angrily and tiredly on the ground. Every time he looks at the walls, he feels like he can see Patrick’s blood dripping, little droplets of red liquid writing words with trembling fingers, calling silently for the help he didn’t get on stage. Tyler hates this word. It wasn’t a spectacle, a representation. A twisted master-plan to kill them, them who committed one crime in their lifetime. Tyler wonders, sometimes, if in this prison the monsters were not the ones who kill them in the name of Justice, a goddess they created for the sake of their image, weak popularity blurred by lies and hatred. It’s a commerce between countries he never understood. Tyler sighs. He doesn’t want to understand. Sometimes, being ignorant feels safer.  
          He finishes his slow walk full of empty thoughts and polluted air as he arrives to the dinning hall. He enters. This self, supposed to be safe, feels like an entire new place, a place that betrayed him, too quiet to be true. Pete looks like nothing, a dead man in a livid suit, full of dark thoughts and tired sighs, exasperated from living this far without his other half, the other part of his heart, the one who used to pump blood and make it flow through his cursed body, used arteries and torn veins. But what really scares Tyler isn’t Pete, cleaning blankly a table, or the blood dripping slowly from one of his hand, destroyed phalanges, but it’s the general standing silently behind him, watching his every movements. Tyler takes a sponge and, cowardly, he cleans one of the tinted windows on the back, squinting his eyes. He tries to see a ray of sun, but nothing comes through. It seems to him that the sun never existed in the first place.

“Good morning, Tyler,” the general says, approaching slowly. He puts a hand on Tyler’s shoulders, too gently for his liking. “How are you feeling ?” Tyler feels like dying right here, right now.  
“Since when do you care ?” Tyler retorts angrily, a sudden feeling of rebellion in his heart. It disappears quickly, letting place to a feeling of disgust and what may feels like a desire of vengeance.  
“Don’t talk like that, Tyler. You have no right here. You’re nothing. Pete is nothing, Brendon is nothing, Melanie is nothing,” the general fumes, almost threading Tyler, he smirks. “Josh is nothing,” Tyler jerks the general’s hand away and throws the sponge on the ground. “Patrick was nothing.”

          His hand flies by its own. It slaps hard on the general’s cheek. Red, a hand-print on his cheek, the general seems off for a second. Tyler is, too. He suddenly regrets. He closes his eyes, covers his face, and lets a single tear of regret and guilt fall down his face. But when nothing comes, he opens his eyes again and frowns at the general’s hand, holding a little remote. The smirk of rage on his face never felt so threatening. He pushes a blue button. And Tyler’s heart stops. The alarm goes off, the red waves flood in the building, and Tyler immediately knows what he did, what he created because of his stupidity. He stand sup and runs, runs faster and faster, to the Grand-place. And behind, resonating like a cursed song, the only thing he hears is the general’s voice yelling viciously at him.

“You killed one person before, Tyler. Now, it is two persons that you condemned.”

          Tyler looks widely around him. He cries and begs for mercy. But nothing comes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, thank you so much !  
> I'm sorry for asking you this, but please, comment if you saw a mistake or have subjections, maybe just to criticize ? Well, do what you want. Just know that I strongly thank you for staying with me, even if the fic is not that great ~
> 
> Wattpad : Calixxe
> 
> Sur ce, buh-bye ~


	6. They hang their dreams with their bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my little flightless birds ! Did you know that, even if God is kind, God is blind ?  
> And he hates his job too ! What a hero !

          He can’t remember when was the last time, exactly, he felt that guilty. About everything, over nothing, he just feels guilt building a home inside his weak and fragile heart, the one pounding irregularly inside his chest. But despite everything, he can’t remember why this sensation of guilt had already been there and stayed, waiting for him to repeat the same mistake or, maybe, a new one worse than the first. Because if you do, again, a mistake you already did, it would be because you like it. And Tyler, right now, hates everything about it. He hates this sensation in his lungs, the one where he’s out of breath without doing anything. The one where, despite his numerous try, he can’t chase away the demons mocking him, chanting his mistakes, mistakes made out of selfishness and ignorance. And for Tyler, this is the worst. The worst sensation, the worst feeling, the worst thoughts he’s had since the beginning of his locally called journey, the one with one and only one end possible, end looking like death and regret. And despite his hope he tries to entertain every new passing day, it seems like he can’t contradict this fate they firmly put in everyone’s mind.  
          He did a mistake. One he’ll never forget, one he already wants to erase, one he wants to replace and throw out of his memories. He wishes he could deny, every second of his life, deny until the end of his time. Yet, he knows it now, it doesn’t work like that. It never worked that way with anything. He knows it well, even more when, after finally passing the iron doors of the Grand-place, he sees a man under a tree, false tree built on the stage, false stage for a false spectacle he already despises. He knows it even more, behind him, resonates the scream of a man he knows too well, a man called Brendon, a man he respects with his entire soul, said in love with a man called Ryan, the one crying shakily under the false tree. And Tyler cries, too, when he feels a pair of hands embracing him firmly, Josh quietly murmuring in his ears that, after that, it will be okay once again. Tyler can’t feel well. Because no, it won’t be okay, kit’s his fault if, on stage, a man is going to hang. But his mouth doesn’t open, and his thoughts race too fast. He regrets, he feels guilty.

“Hello, my little flightless birds !”

          Tyler wishes to die instead of him, because Brendon screams, hits the cameras around him, runs to the stage. They catch him, spin in around and throw him on the ground. Brendon struggles but can’t get away. He just screams again, yelling Ryan’s name over and over and over gain, trying to save the man with the only sound of his broken voice. But a voice is not material, and men despise what they can’t touch.

“Today, quiet and cold day, will be the last of a lonely man, only wishing to die with someone. So for that, my friends,” Tyler knows as much as Brendon and Ryan and everyone else in the Grand-place what’s going to happen. “We will let this criminal die alone, suffocating to his death, without the one that should protect him.”

          Tyler knows that, even if his guilt is worst than any other day, Brendon must feel like a, already dead man, watching his light fade away, as time passes. Ryan knows that men can’t see when it’s dark, he knows that he saved Brendon from many things, from his family, from his drugs problems, from his past abusive relationship, and he knows now that he shouldn’t have taken that as granted. Brendon, without him, will be blind in an already colorless world he will have to support alone. So he begs for his life, he begs for him to stay with Brendon, because Brendon can’t survive if left alone. But the general doesn’t hear anything, he just takes a rope, ties it to the top of the false tree, and lets it hang, balance, mocking Ryan’s neck. Brendon implores them but his voice is husky, disappearing with every breath he takes. Tyler closes his eyes, buries his face in the hollow of Josh’s neck. And he cries, knowing too well it’s his fault, knowing too well he’s the one who threw Ryan up there, scared, shaking like a dying rabbit. Ryan refuses to go, refuses to climb the little step leading him to his death. He looks at Brendon, calls him, begs him, but Brendon doesn’t have a voice anymore, gone and erased because of his screams and cries. He whimpers under the guards, not looking at the cameras flying, taking in and showing to the world his pitiful state, the ridiculous situation he’s in. But a gun is put behind Brendon’s head and, as if they were in a romantic novel, Ryan takes a step forward, climbing. The general puts the rope around Ryan’s neck. And, at this specific moment, Tyler finally knows how to separate reality from romantic novels. Because Brendon can’t move, because the step falls, because the noose hugging Ryan’s neck doesn’t become loose, because it gets tighter and tighter and Ryan’s body hangs and balances, making in the microphone the broken melody of an accordion. Ryan’s last breath resonates, breaking everyone’s heart and mind. Because despite despite the noose around his neck and the death above his head, he finds the strength to slowly, very slowly, whisper in the microphone attached to the rope Excuse me. Brendon’s head falls on the ground, his cries being the only instrument playing with the noose. Otherwise, it’s silence that covers the Grand-place.  
          The cheers break, making the body flinch, balance even more. They let Brendon go, watching him as he runs on stage, slowing at the side of Ryan hanging body. It’s lifeless, blue and purple, with saliva covering the rope and pee soaking the ground, but Brendon doesn’t care as he jumps on his body,, takes him away from the false tree, puts his numb head on his lap. Tyler cries and holds on Josh as he sees the desperate man trying to sooth Ryan to sleep, a normal sleep he deserved more than death.  
And when the room empties, when no one except the prisoners are here, Brendon finally stops, cries, tells to the deaf God above his head that it’s unfair, because Ryan died alone, in front of a thousand people, because Brendon was too weak, didn’t know what to do. He begs for some kind of mercy, but God is blind, too, and can’t see his own children endlessly suffering under his feet. So Brendon stops, stops everything and, under the eyes of a hundred of crying criminals, he hugs Ryan’s body.  
          And Tyler feels even more guilty as he learns that not only is God deaf and blind, but he hates his job too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry. Really, really, really sorry about everything.
> 
> Wattpad : Calixxe
> 
> Sur ce, buh-bye ~


	7. They realize under the pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my little flightless birds ! Did you know that friendship is nothing when hatred is stronger ? Humans' emotions are just a lure...

          The water is here again, soaking his feet, his hands. But this time, he feels like he can’t breathe, like the water is soaking his face too, drowning his entire body. The weight of the water keeps him away from the surface. And, despite his strong desire to take a breath, to empty his lungs from the water they hold and to fill it with air, something keeps him down, something harsh yet so familiar keeps him away from what could save him. He struggles, puts his hands, little hands that are not his own, on forearms with tattoos he recognizes; he tries to fight back. But the person on top of him is stronger, much stronger, and his frail body is weaker, too weak to fight anyone, anything. So, slowly, his lungs become fire, his head spin under the water, and his hands fall down, let go. He can’t breathe, he can’t fight, his little heart slowly stops, his brain slowly closes. But, before he closes his eyes, before he takes the sleep he suddenly needs, a face brushes the surface, a face he could recognize everywhere. Tyler. It’s him. He’s the one drowning his own self. Everything becomes black, darkness invades his vision. Then, nothing.  
          Tyler wakes up, jolts out of his bed. He falls, runs to the window, but no sun is here to welcome him. He cries, takes in every breath he can. Every inch of air he can swallow fills his lungs with a certain satisfaction, his lungs don’t feel like fire anymore, water is no more running through his throat to drown his poor lungs. He suffocates, falls down on his knees. His chest heaves, he wheezes, puffs, breathes as much as he can. And, for the first time, air feels and tastes like sweets in his mouth. It’s sugary, soft, as lovable as cotton candy rotting his teeth. It softly tickles his nose and his mouth, running through his tongue, slipping down his throat. He feels lightheaded for a moment, but he quickly stands up, ignoring the vertigo he gets at every new steps he takes. His room is empty, the hall is empty, but he goes out easily, looking skeptically at every corner for cameras. They’re all looking at him, spying his every movement, looking as he tangles, his legs like jelly under his conveniently heavy body. He walks slowly to the self, spots Josh, his yellowish hair sticking out, and he sits down at his side, putting his head on his shoulder. Josh weakly smiles at him, stroking his fluffy hair softly, like a child he wants to take care of.

“Are you okay Tyler ?” Josh whispers in Tyler’s ears, careful not to make too much sounds.  
“I’m okay, Josh, I’m okay,” Tyler answers, louder than Josh. “Are you okay, you ?”  
“I don’t know,” Josh says honestly, his voice breaking at the end. “It could be worse, but it could better.”

          A week. It’s been a week since Ryan’s execution, yet everyone is still shaken up by the pictures they had to witness this day. Ryan hanging, Brendon crying, the image of a Romeo and Juliet play, but with too much reality, the reality they never desired. They all needed fantasy here, all of them. Yet, every passing day, and since the beginning of time, everything becomes too real, throwing their fate and their mistakes at their faces. The only thing keeping them from dying is the fact that they can’t die by their own. They have to wait and suffer until the end, the end they never wanted. A fateful and imposed end. Execution.  
          Tyler looks at his plate. Nothing good, only false meat and what looks like a rotten egg with a red orange juice he never touched, scared of being poisoned. Around him, Josh is eating, pinching his hair, faded yellow hair, pulling out, tearing his dying strands of hair. Melanie is eating, but feels out of place. She looks ill-at-ease, closing her eyes every second like she’s praying to some God that doesn’t answer. Pete doesn’t eat, doesn’t even look at his plate. He looks at the empty seat at his side, breath almost nonexistent, violently chasing every person coming near him or the ghost of his lover he swears he can see. The one he talks to, at night, or makes love with. No one trusts him. But everyone smiles when he tells the beautiful discussions he’s had with it, feeling the tears coming again. They don’t want to cry, don’t want to show that no, Patrick isn’t here anymore. And no one knows if it’s out of pity or fear of responsibility that they keep their pretty mouths shut. Tyler gags when he sees Pete talking to nothing. Brendon eats. Slowly, looking angry, disappointed, confused, sad, sometimes smiling. Tyler thinks that, sometimes, when you loose someone, you fall into a madness you never thought could exist. Tyler can’t change Brendon, it’s too late now. Josh, once, qualified him a “living tombstone”, walking around, seeing nothing, just using the emotions he once saw on a face, suing them randomly. Tyler thinks Josh’s right. Brendon can’t be Brendon again. Not after what happened.  
          Little silence falls on the room as only footsteps can be heard. Heavy footsteps, full of pride and selfishness. A breath strokes Tyler’s neck, puffing at his skin like an old steam engine. Tyler shudders, hugging Josh’s arm tightly against his chest. The general sits by Brendon’s side, looking at him with a new affection. Brendon shivers and stands up, sitting next to Tyler. They’re all scared.

“Going next to Tyler, Brendon ? That’s a little messed up, don’t you think ?”  
“What do you mean ?” Brendon asks weakly, looking confusingly at Tyler then at the general. Tyler slightly sobs, coughing his fear and embarrassment away. Josh takes Tyler’s hands in his, protecting him from a force he can’t fight.  
“Please, don’t,” Josh pleads. “Brendon, don’t listen to him.”  
“What ? What’s happening ?” Brendon asks again, even more confused.  
“Nothing Brendon, nothing,” affirms Melanie, worry and concern in her fragile voice. She knows, too. “Absolutely nothing.”  
“Don’t lie to your own friend,” the general stands, holding a little remote in his hands. Everyone tense, silence fills the room once again. Tyler gulps. “Just, Brendon, knows that Ryan did nothing. Absolutely nothing,” the general whispers, cutting Brendon before he says anything. “But Tyler did.”

          The general slowly walks away and sits against the door, blocking it. It takes a minute for Brendon to understand. A minute for him to react. And, suddenly, anger and hatred flush on his pale skin, distorting his face. He stands up and, screaming, he jumps on Tyler, pushing Josh away. They fall, roll, Tyler covering his face, Brendon hitting, beating every inch of skin he sees. He cries, screams and yells, accusing Tyler of every sins. Tyler begs for him to stop, the pain coming from Brendon’s words, not actions. Josh tries to stop them, Melanie tries, too, Pete cries, seeing everything, the fight unbearable for him. Guards come, take Brendon away, throwing Tyler on the ground. They trail Brendon, hit him with broken sticks and sharp machetes. Brendon screams, his voice resonating like a death-threat in Tyler’s ears. The general stands up, following them. Brendon’s yelps become faded slowly, covered by a familiar sound to all of them. They all stand up like broken sheep and follow. Melanie and Josh help Tyler, hugging him, comforting his hurtful body. Tyler doesn’t think he deserved it. But he doesn’t push them away.

“I should have died instead of him,” his broken and husky voice says.

          Josh looks sad, at the edge of tears. Melanie sighs, not liking the current situation. But Josh, even if he doesn’t like what Tyler just said, doesn’t contradict it. No one does. Because deep down, everyone agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola ! Sorry for the delay, I didn't really have the time (and I won't have time the next weeks either, stupid exams) but I'm here. Late, but here. That's a start.  
> I'm writing two things at the same time. A one-shot based, once again, on a Nothing But Thieves' song (I REALLY like this band) and one based on Rhinehart's fictional book, this one we'll be a part of "The joy of experimentation". I'll just wait to post everything, if I ever finish it.
> 
> Anyway, no execution this time. Next, I promise.  
> Thank you for following me, thank you very much.  
> Sur ce, buh-bye ~
> 
> Edit : Well, I didn't wait for the songfic/one-shot at the end...


	8. They overdose on what guilt feels like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dearest flightless birds ! You know, he lives in a world full of lies so, when he finally dies, Sarah smiles.

          Tyler walked slowly, limping under the weak arms of Josh and Melanie. They both look at the horizon, looking out for the Grand-place. They’re the last ones, apprehending stronger than ever this situation they’re thrown into. They whimper, Tyler throws up on the way, head full of fears and regret. Twice. And every time, his stomach hurts, burns, because there’s nothing inside. So he throws up his sadness and his guilt, spitting out his disgust and desolation, watching as every particle of air leaves his body, mocking him because they’re free. Tyler cries and, if he need a metaphor for everything that leaves his body, he would say that his tears feel like little needles piercing his eyes, creating silver tattoos on his cheeks, tattoos that, one day, will leave physically, cleaned away, but will forever stay. He fears those tears, tears he will feel every day, awful salty water slashing his skin like clean razors’ blades. He hates it, but can’t avoid it. What he state, oh, what a fate, too.  
          They make their way to the Grand-place. Lights are dim, darker than usual. They see almost nothing, just the colorful yet blurry spots where the hats of the other crowd are shining weakly under the dark lights. To Tyler, it almost looks like people holding their phones in the air, in a concert, with the flashlight on. But the idea of support is far from present, and it’s just hundreds of expensive hats, made of cotton, leather, feather, luxurious textiles, showing off the amount of money they put on those shows. Hats put normally under the sun, now under a roof full of cameras, dim lights and death. Tyler hates it, too. He’s not a hat-guy anyway.  
          Clapping hands covered in rings and nail-polish show on the screens, and the sound they make resonates suddenly in the giant and full room. The general walks on stage, dressed properly, clean from head to toe. He smiles brightly, his white teeth shining under the recently switched spotlights above his head. He waits a second, listening to the fearful whispers with attention, until every sounds finally stop.

“Hello, my beautiful and important flightless birds,” he chants to the other crowd, brushing with the tip of his fingers the feathers beautifully stitching out of a young man’s hat. The young man blushes and laughs with his friends. “I have an important question for all of you,” he continues, pointing again to the other crowd. He doesn’t ever look at the prisoners. They’re here for the dark part of the story after all, and no one likes those parts. “Did you ever see someone overdosing ? On drugs, on alcohol, on medicine, on any eatable thing, really. It works with many things you know and touch every single day.”

          The other crowd looks at him almost impatiently, willing for him to keep on. They all shake their heads negatively, waiting for him to show them, again, what dying looks like when pain plays as important part. Josh knows why he didn’t ask the prisoners. They all know. Of course they know what overdosing looks like. They never lived in a happy place, a stable one, in a bright part of town, with jobs, money, houses feeling like home, a garden, one dog, two cats and maybe a horse, caring parents and kind siblings. And if they did have at least a quarter of that, something was always off. Always. Something missing, lying, disappearing, always. Everyone on this side of the room always had some kind of problem, parasite sticking its mandible on their skin, poisoning their fate, the correct life they all should have, bringing them here, in a place where everyone stands but never lives. And the safety the government should have provided them ended up being a curse, a big lies they didn’t see coming. They discovered, then, that the government above their head never cared about the inside of the cities, it only cared about the outside, the beautiful surface no one here could even reach. No wonder they all end here one day.

“Well then, I’ll gladly show you. Say hello to Brendon !” He claps, quickly followed by the other crowd. Tyler grits his teeth, suddenly feeling awfully sick again.  
They treat him like a slave, throwing him around, naked, beaten. Swollen cuts cover his body, Melanie thinks that one of his ribs must be broken, it’s too much. Brendon whines, cries for help with his weak voice. He tries to run away but his skin is broken and his body doesn’t work correctly, so he just falls again and again, watching with fear the many pills and the blue funnel on the table. The general takes the funnel and walks to Brendon. Brendon bounces, tries to move, but his legs are paralyzed, blocked by what must be fear and regret. The general takes slowly yet firmly Brendon’s chin in his hand. He smiles almost kindly, like a father. Tyler wants to yell.

“Brendon, who once was a lovely young man, is now an awful criminal. He strangled his wife, pretty Sarah always smiling, ran away, and fell into despair, living in the streets like the rat he is,” scoffs the general, looking lustfully at the other crowd. They all look down, disgusted. Tyler hopes it’s because of the general’s actions, but Brendon starts to sniffles loudly, making horrible sounds. “So, Brendon,” the general’s voice is slow, soft, almost intimate. “Let’s see what you look like when you suffocate, too.”

          The funnel feels too sharp deep in Brendon’s throat. For a moment, he can taste blood, little droplets dripping down all the way to his stomach. He can’t move his head, can’t move his entire body, scared of cutting the insides of his throat even more. He looks, motionless, at the cameras zooming on the medicine, on Brendon’s tortured body. Brendon gags, almost throws up due to the funnel, blue funnel making him look like a goose about to be forced-fed. The general stands up and takes the little blue pills. They look too blue, too clear, almost shining. They’re special. Not normal. Everything is special here. The general comes back to Brendon, taking one little pill between his thumb and his forefinger. He lets it fall watching as it rolls down the funnel. Brendon coughs, the pill is down. And the general does it again. Again and again. Tyler counts ten. The general stops at exactly ten pills down Brendon’s throat. The man is a mess, coughing every second, tears drowning his eyes, saliva running down his chin. Finally, the general takes out the funnel, putting it carefully on the table, where no pills remain. Everyone waits. For a reaction, for anything, really, the prisoners hoping for it to fail, the other crowd hoping for it to succeed. And, for a moment, only the incessant buzzing of the cameras can be heard.  
          Then, it happens quickly, almost too quickly for Tyler’s eyes to see everything correctly. A single spasm coming from Brendon’s left eye, then a bigger one, coming from his mouth. Brendon puts his fragile hands on his naked shoulders, feeling cold and warm, weak and stronger, healthy and broken. His eyes cry by their own, his mouth falls open, he throws up, rolls, scratches his skin with his fingernails, letting his body bleed, wishing for it to be clean, cleaner than it is. His erection hurts, his skin burns, his eyes don’t see, every senses are mixed, broken, and as time passes, as pain increases, his voice echoing, every second of this, his heart slows, accelerates, slows, accelerates, never stopping, letting him suffer longer. Tyler doesn’t see Brendon anymore. It’s a beast, dying slowly, a goose you force-fed too quickly, shocking on what you want it to swallow. Brendon suddenly stands up, naked body shining under the spotlights, his skin covered with spit, saliva, rejections, piss. A gross spectacle, gore presentation they watch with or delight, or disgust. He puts his hands in the air and, like a man who just had an awful epiphany, who just saw God on top of a pile of corpses, he speaks blatantly and looks at the sky, _but there’s no sky here, Brendon_. He stops. He falls, closed eyes, opened mouth, and dies. His body still twitches, members numb. Everyone is silent and, maybe for the first time, the other crowd stays silent, too, every person looking scared, lost, regret in their eyes. Yet, when the general comes, everyone cheers, and it’s a smile that replaces their horror. Tyler despises it.

“Now, my dearest flightless birds, Sarah smiles.”

          They all applause then walk out slowly, the recent pictures haunting their eyes. They cover their faces with their hands, avoid the cameras, cry silently, discretely. Tyler staggers out of the Grand-place, Josh holding his weakly, almost uselessly. Behind them, Melanie looks down, watching her feet slipping on the ground, making dust fly. She suddenly stops, looking up, a smile on her face. Josh turns around, looking at her quizzically. His face shows surprise, his eyes show fear, apprehension. Tyler glances at her too.  
Her face, her eyes, her mouth, her smile, everything looks broken, mad. She passes her hands through her colorless hair and smiles even more. Tyler feels insecure, not recognizing his friend.

“I know what I’ll do !” She chants loudly.  
“What are you talking about ?” Responds Josh after a minute.  
“I’m gonna kill myself, Josh, I’m gonna die like Brendon, like Dallon, like Patrick and like you when you’ll die one day, too. I’m gonna pacify myself !”  
“Mel, don’t do that.”  
“And why ? Why shouldn’t I” She whispers softly, eyes darting everywhere. Her voice is strong, her body shows disinterest. Everything in her contradicts her appearance.  
“You have dreams, right ? Live for your dreams.’  
“What dreams ? My dreams ? I’m here because of them, Josh.”

          She enters the Grand-place again, where cameras fly, filming the general talking. She runs to the stage where Brendon’s body is long gone. Josh runs after her, trying to catch her slim body. She goes on stage and, smiling, laughing loudly, she stops in front of the cameras. The general looks at her surprised, taken aback. Josh stops, catching Tyler. They both look at the scene, terrified. Melanie turns around and, glaring at the general, she raises her hands. She laughs again. The loud sound of her hands hitting his cheek resonates, stopping every life, every flying camera. She sees as the the general tumbles, staggers, stroking his red cheek. She turns around to the cameras and, still smiling, she says :

“Call me Crybaby.”

          Her screams resonate again in Josh and Tyler’s minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ~  
> Sorry, the only references I have about an actual overdose are from Pulp Fiction and doctissimo... Sorry if I got it wrong.
> 
> The next chapter will be worse. In my opinion anyway. And sorry, I'm in the middle of exams and everything, so that's a bit complicated.
> 
> Thank you for reading, always.  
> Sur ce, buh-bye ~


	9. They can't give back what life gave them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dearest flightless birds ! She always mourns every death so, you see, they ended up calling her Crybaby.

          They all run to her. She pulls her hair, her black and baby blue hair, as she cries in front of so many cameras. Her thumb in her mouth, nibbling with her unequal nail, she slowly falls as guards gather around her form, waiting and watching her every movement. They glare at her behind their tainted glasses, guns aiming at her forehead, her breasts, her arms, every inch of her body. She crawls to the side of the iron stage ans sits, letting her legs hang. They watch her, wait her, for her actions. She looks at Josh and Tyler, waves at Pete, and when she looks back, it’s the missing form of Brendon’s corpse that greets her. She stays still and, looking at the cameras, looking through their cleaned glasses, pointing her fingers at the guns threatening her life, she slowly cries.

“They call me Crybaby, Crybaby,” she sings, closing her eyes. “But I don’t fucking care. Crybaby, Crybaby,” she cries harder, feeling the wind of the cameras flying around her. “I laugh through my tears,” she stills, sensing the guards slowly approaching her. “Crybaby, Crybaby, but I don’t fucking care,” she opens her eyes again, letting billion tears wet her pale skin. “Tears fall to the ground, I’ll just let them-”  
“Fucking kill her !”

          The general’s voice resonates. Angry voice, husky, barking at the guards. They jump on her, pull her by her colorful hair, throwing her to the middle of the stage. They break her beautiful teeth, the ones she’s always been proud of. Tyler and Josh hide behind the prisoners being pushed inside. But this time, no other crowd. The other side is empty, no hats, no gloves, no fancy colors looking admirably at the stage. Just empty space with silence, constant silence. They don’t clap, don’t cheer. Nothing is here to hide the tears, nothing is here to hush the screams. Tyler doesn’t know if he likes it or not.  
          One at a time, they fall on her. Letting what kills physically aside to use what kills mentally instead. They touch her, let their fingers violently trail on her skin, scratching it, marking it with their nails, their fingertips, letting purplish marks on her shoulders, her hips, her breasts. She hates it, screams, yells, almost begs, letting her tears drown her eyes, because if she has to feel the pain, she doesn’t want to see it.  
          She struggles under their weapons, feels her naked skin burn on the iron stage, she feels the liquid she despises on her her stomach, her hips, the inside of her legs. She feels sharp pain, weapons, strangers inside her, things she never desired. She screams, tries to crawl, but hideous voices tell her to _stay still, baby, it won’t be long_ , call her awful name, names she doesn’t want to hear. She never asked for this, she just wanted to die, to join the babies she condemned years ago, to apologize to the parents she betrayed, to the mothers she lied to, she just wants to take care of those babies in Heaven, the beautiful place where she could finally be the loving mother she never had the chance to become, because she hates her body, because it’s been broken since her birth, because she wanted to give life too, like her mother did, like many mothers, fathers and others did. But she’s always been out of Life’s way, out where God wouldn’t see her, so they forgot her existence and let her perish in a corner, corner where she couldn’t have the baby she’s always dreamed about.  
          Josh tries to make his way to the stage, to push through the prisoners, men and women, begging for them to stop. But Tyler stops him, begs and pleads, doesn’t want him to see, to hear, to move. Josh yells, Tyler cries, but they both just stop, silently asking for everything to stop, please, stop.  
          Her eyes are dull, looking tediously at the ceiling, her body covered in sweat, semen, blood and spit. Men are dancing around, flying, feeling great in their disgusting bodies. Melanie cries silently, her voice dead for so long now, her pleads falling in deaf ears and blind eyes. She lets her tears wash her skin, lets the shame in her heart consume her existence, the shame of feeling some kind of pleasure, the shame of letting her body feel good under their assault, the guilt, the disgusting feeling eating her flesh, her guts. Hands go away, but she still feels their fingers on her, touching every part of her body, licking her breasts, her hips. She wants to scratch every sensation away, wants to vomit every taste, every feeling out of her mouth., wants to build a new body, one that wouldn’t be dirty, broken by men she doesn’t know, doesn’t love. She doesn’t flinch when she sees through her sticky eyelashes the cameras zooming on her gray body. She doesn’t flinch when she hears through her buzzing ears the general’s voice telling to an entire world her crime, her punishment, she doesn’t flinch when she senses hands lifting her heavy and dirty body from the dusty ground, her naked self under the eyes of billions of corrupted humans. And she doesn’t flinch when, in her mind, she hears a crying baby, the one she never had the chance to hold.  
          The stage is cleaned. The cameras fly away. The general goes. The prisoners march to their old cells. And, under the lasting spotlights, Josh and Tyler, looking at Pete, thinks that Melanie and him would be better off dead than alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola. Sorry, I'll try to rush the end, I'm not motivated anymore about this. I already have the last two chapters, I'll try to write them faster. Sorry again about that.  
> I'm so into Todomomo right now. I love My Hero Academia.
> 
> Anyway, is everything good for you ? I hope so. You all deserve so much.
> 
> Sur ce, buh-bye ~
> 
> Wattpad : Calixxe


	10. They tried, once, to escape...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the red alarm, tears look like blood, you know ?

          Melanie never came back. She wasn’t dead, she still isn’t. They both know, Josh and Tyler. They both feel it, by the look of pride and rage on the general’s face. This disgusting look, this face, painted badly on his old had, the one everyone despises but everyone fears. It tells them that they’re all lost, that Melanie isn’t as dead as they hope she was, that she’s suffering, alone, in a far away asylum where she’s treated like an animal, a crazy, mas woman, as lost as the Mad Hatter yet as cute as Alice, sleeping like the roses in the story, yelling like the Queen of Heart, running like the white rabbit and as stoned as the Caterpillar. Josh fears for her. Tyler wants her dead, she would be better off away from this world, world that condemned her since her birth. Tyler, really, he hates it. He thinks he hates maybe everything. He’s not sure.  
          Aside from their fear, they keep on trying to run away, escape this place they call hell. Taking weapons, hiding them, taking food, hiding it, taking clothes, hiding them, under their beds, inside the walls. They try everything, letting Pete aside. The guy can’t run anymore. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, and looks at every new execution like it was some stupid sitcom. Sometimes he laughs quietly, sometimes he looks blankly at everything and everyone, but otherwise he just stares and never cries, never throws up like he and Brendon used to do. Some say that they see him, sometimes, trying to reach for a hand he can never find. So Josh and Tyler prepare everything without him. They feel sorry, dishonest, disgusted with their own self for letting a friend behind, but they both badly want to escape, and create a new life, with new names, new places and maybe some kids to tell a story they want to forget. They don’t know if it’s being selfish or human.  
          In more than a month, maybe two, they gathered what they needed. They have the more supplies they can. Plastic knives and forks, little silver spoons, thin ropes, dirty yet useful clothes, food, ton of food -maybe expired by now, all put in black little bags. And, attached, strongly tied under their beds, are true knives, little swords, and a gun, little hand-gun, with a dozens of amos. They rushed their lives, they sacrificed time, so much time, but they’re happy. Not the true side of happy though, not the “happy” feeling you have in your heart when you hug your child, kiss your lover, pet a fluffy cat or success in life. But “happy” as “we’re optimistic, we’re going out of here”. “Happy” as rushing things while hoping for the best. Shooting a target from far, far away, you can’t even discern any physical traits, yet you hope for the bullet to touch vital part. And even if they’re rushing, they don’t want to slow down. They want and need to get out. Breathing becomes harder. And living becomes dire.  
          They both sit, guards’ cards in their pockets, stolen helmets at their side. Josh can feel the painful scar created because of those helmets. At least he didn’t die while stealing them. He just lost blood and hope. That’s all. Not a big deal. Silence fills the room for a moment. Josh thinks he can hear Tyler’s fast breathing. Tyler knows his heartbeat is too loud, too fast for anyone to stay calm. Anticipation, fear and maybe excitement is burning his insides.

“Do you think we’ll succeed ?” Asks Josh, his voice breaking a little. Tyler hesitates. Is he talking about their escaping or the careers they already planed ? He strangely doesn’t want to clarify that.  
“I think.”  
“You think ? That’s it ?”  
“I know we’ll do everything we can together Josh. I know that.”  
“I hope you’re right,” whispers Josh.

          He stands up and walks quietly to Tyler’s side, sitting next to him. A thin cloud of dust flies around them and Tyler breathes in the smell of routine and boredom. Josh takes his hands, stroking his palms with his thumbs. He kisses his neck, his cheeks, his nose, his mouth. Tyler giggles. He puts his head on Josh’s shoulder and inspires. He smells like ashes and sweat, maybe blood, dried blood. Does dried blood even has an odor ? Tyler closes his eyes and imagines what Josh would smell like once out of here. Daisies. Or a forest. Renoir’s painting, The swing, came to Tyler’s mind. He doesn’t even remember ever analyzing this painting in class but he likes the picture. He likes it. Being free, loving, swinging, feeling king of a kingdom, swinging, wind drying his tears, he loves it.

“What if we get caught ? What if we die here ?”  
“We won’t, Josh. It’s gonna be okay.”  
“But Tyler, they’re so many. They’re strong, all stronger than us,” Josh’s voice quivers, shakes. Tyler feels claustrophobic all of a sudden. “We’ll get caught, they’ll arrest us, they’ll tied us, execute us under the cameras, the billion of glowing eyes watching us die. Tyler, I-I...”  
“They won’t catch us,” snaps Tyler. Josh looks at him, surprised, saddened. Tyler knows he made a mistake. But he can’t back away now. “They won’t catch us. And if they do, we’ll die proudly. We’ll be the first ones to try, to realize our dream of freedom.”  
“But Tyler, I don’t want to die.”

          Strike two. Another mistake. Josh sounds weak, at the verge of crying. Tyler stands up and sits on his knees in front of Josh. He puts his hands on Josh’s rosy cheeks, stroking them with his thumbs. Josh leans in the embrace.

“We’ll get out of here. We’ll be safe. I swear, Josh. You’ll protect me, I’ll protect you,” Tyler whispers, looking lovingly at Josh’s dreamy eyes. “We’ll protect each other.”

          Josh smiles brightly. He kisses Tyler’s hands. He stands up, putting Tyler on the bed. Tyler laughs, closing his eyes, crooked teeth shining under the dirty light above their heads. He looks at the tainted window. Black glass pushing the sun away from him, letting his tan skin paling. Josh walks to the bars of their shared cell and looks out, to the corridor where no one is. He puts his back against the door. The cool iron feels refreshing against his skin.  
          A little and repetitive beep suddenly resonates under Josh’s bed. Tyler kneels and looks at the gun strangely beeping. He takes it and traces the metal with his fingertips. He gasps and throws it away in horror when he sees a little microchip soldered against the iron. The green light becomes brighter and brighter, the little alarm louder and louder. Tyler tries to silence it, hiding it in his hands. But it all becomes too late, too late, too late and maybe too fast for him. Boots hit the jagged ground, so much boots, so much feet, so much people coming their way. Tyler panics when he hears shouts resonate in the hallway. Tyler stands up when he sees the door of their cell opening violently. And Tyler yells and cries out when he hears Josh yelping, cut shortly by hands on his mouth, hand son his hips, hands on his shoulders, his arms, his legs. They take him away, pull his hair, his skin, his every members. Tyler cries out, loudly, running after Josh. He tries to reach for the hand Josh is stretching, he touches his fingers, he brushes his palm. But Tyler feels new hands pushing him away, throwing him on the ground. Tyler struggles, spasms on the ground, cries louder than anyone, trying to cover the orders being thrown at them. He watches uselessly at Josh, Josh struggling to escape. It’s too fast for Tyler. Josh’s screams are muffled and his figure disappears at the corner. They let go of Tyler. He doesn’t stand up, doesn’t move. He looks at the ground, watching the blood coming from his broken nose soaking the dusty flood. The light around him goes red. The alarm goes off. People move around him. But Tyler’s heart stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. It's so shitty, and I'm so bad at writing. i'm really sorry.
> 
> Wattpad : calixxe  
> Tumblr : Calixxe


	11. ... But only one could see the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They float. Maybe they're drowning, but from where he is, they float.

          When he walks to the Grand-Place, when he walks, no, limps, cutting his feet on the jagged ground, he feels like no one, like another person in an alienated body, a body he doesn’t recognize, he doesn’t like. It feels too small, too thin for him, the skin covering it is not his, it’s too clear, the hair on his had is not his either, it feels soaked, wet and smells like chlorine. He breathes with difficulty and, when he arrives to the Grand-Place, facing the iron doors, the image on the reflection is not his, it’s his brother, blue, purple, his lips not moving, his hair sticking to his face, and fingertips painted in a grayish color on his bruised neck. Tyler embraces this picture, because drowning feels so good right now. He puts his hands on the little boy’s neck and pushes the door, his nails braking against the gray metal. He walks slowly, very slowly, pushing people around him. Prisoners look at him, whisper, cry for his own eyes which seem to just see, not comprehend and translate the images around him. He stops in front of the stage, just in front, five feet away from the cold iron, iron cleaned for the event. He hears Pete behind him, Pete crying, for once, Pete sobbing loudly, hugging Tyler from behind, taking his waist in his hands. Tyler can’t know if it’s because Josh is walking, head down, on stage, or if it’s because he can hear Patrick too, whispering in his ear that he’ll loose someone else, the most important person he met. His neck is bruised and Josh breathes strongly, loudly, his throat is soar. Tyler thinks that he can see fingertip on his collarbones, but he’s not sure, the lights are too bright. Too, too bright.

“Hello, hello, my little flightless birds,” the general’s voice resonates.

          His intimidating figure is not here, not on stage, he’s behind it, not showing his bruised face, purple at the base of his cheek. Tyler still doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t move when when Josh starts to struggle a little, showing his beaten back, his bruised arms and legs, his red and purple neck. The other crowd, with their colorful hats and festive make-up, smile and laugh. Tyler stays still when he hears Josh pleads, when he sees the cameras around him. Pete lets go of him and shows the giant TV, new, clean, showing what the cameras are recording live. People wave, people laugh, people make kissing gestures. Prisoners avoid the cameras, look down, look at the stage, at Josh’s lost and fearful face showing on the TV, in HD, every pixel being the terrible witness of his painful state.

“Today, my friends, we’re killing a burner,” his voice chants, almost sing. People whistle, encourage him to keep on, keep on, keep on. “Josh, here, with his ridiculous body and hideous face,” he bites, pointing at Josh from the bottom of the stage. Tyler sees make-up on his cheek. The general climbs the steps slowly, too slowly. Tyler feels something building inside. Josh struggles more and more. “Today, my friends, we’re giving the revenge his burned, calcined family needs.”

          Josh looks down, biting his bottom lip until it bleeds, shaking. He sobs. His sobs are too loud now. It hurts. Tears soak his shirt, blur his eyes. He senses that someone is pushing him, forcing him to climb a wooden ladder. He stands at the top of this ladder, still not looking up, eyes closed. He feels wind, he hears water. His feet start burning. They’re burning the ladder under him.

“And, my friends, do you know how we extinguish fire ?” They all nod, smiling. “We drown it.”

          Josh feels nothing under him. He falls, falls, it feels too long. He hits something, it hurts like rock, but he’s locked, stuck under water. He opens his eyes. The water is cold, around him is only glass, transparent. He sees everyone, people crying, people looking, and he sees Tyler, Tyler who starts moving, who looks scared so suddenly, who seems to call him. Josh looks around him, his eyes fall on a giant screen. He’s inside a cube. A glassy cube full of water and sand under his feet. No exits, Josh can’t get out. And slowly, under the freezing water, his lungs start burning.  
          Tyler finally move. He struggles, pushes Pete, pushes people around him. He tries to go on stage, but they keep him away, keep him down, where there’s air, where he can fully breathe, breathe the air that keeps him alive, him, and not Josh. They film him, cameras buzz around him, around the cube where Josh is drowning. Tyler hears Josh, hears his brother, he hears so much things. And, screaming, he watches as Josh suffocates, he watches him, bubbles of poisoned air leaving his mouth and, for a moment, it seems like his tears glow in the water.

“Let’s all be happy for him,” the general says dramatically, his voice echoing, hitting the walls, hotting their heads, hitting so much things. “After all, he always dreamed of seeing the sea he never saw.”

          But no one claps, no one moves. They all watch in horror, wide-eyes, as Josh lets go of the glassy walls and goes deeper in the water. His hair, faded yellow, floats, imitates the agile movements of an elegant jellyfish. They glow under the light, the spotlights above his the cube. He cries through the water, he swims deeper and, under a million eyes, he touches the wet sands, makes it slide through the gapes between his shaking fingers, plays with it. Josh doesn’t smile, yet his eyes seem to sparkle. Death hurts, his body aches, his lungs pierce, his throat closes. Spasms take over his every members, his eyes close. His skin turns an abnormal blue shade. And, sand in his palms, his body becomes numb. He doesn’t move anymore. He slowly falls and falls, gravitates in the water. His back touches the bottom, making sand fly, billions of grains covering his tainted skin, his eyes, his mouth. Silence, no claps, no movement. They finally all understand. The other crowd. They finally see through the lies. It’s not staged. It’s not a show. Everything’s so, so true, so hurtful. And it’s not an actor, it’s not a puppet. It’s a true corpse. Someone died. Someone they didn’t know. And everything seems so clear now. Tyler sees them, sees the disgusting epiphany they all have. And, without hearing his own sobs, he screams. They all scream.

          A poetic death.

          A riot, violent, loud, starts. They all push, hit, beat, they all run, scream, yell. Tyler follows, looking one last time at Josh’s body. For a second, on the giant TV, he thinks he can see a little bubble escaping his eyes, but Tyler is pushed and he can’t see Josh’s face anymore. His heart aches. He cries while running, being pushed, being beaten. But he runs, runs, again and again. He hears the guards, he hears the prisoners, he hears the fancy people with their thrown at the ground fancy hats, and he screams, yells, runs faster and faster, again, so much. He never stops to catch his breath, he never slows to look behind, he doesn’t feel scared, doesn’t feel threatened. He just feels like someone else that should just run, just get away from this place, pushed by a voice oh so familiar inside his head, whispering in his buzzing ears his love, his hope, his wish. He can’t see past his own nose, he can’t see anything, it’s too far, too blurry, every face, every person around him is blurry, and despite that, despite everything, Tyler doesn’t feel frightened. Not anymore. He’s been here for too long for his weak mind, he’s seen too much, he’s lost everything and failed everyone. Under his own eyes, eyes that can’t see. He’s tired, he’s out of breath, out of shape, out of time, but he runs. People fall, roll, die on the bloody concrete. He hears shouts, he hears orders, he hears guns, they all fall like flies behind. Tyler runs faster. He sees a door, closed, but with a light behind it he can sense, he can already feel burning his skin. So he runs, jumps on corpses he can’t see, he runs and runs. And, shoulders first, hi and so much others collide with the door.  
          The light is too bright for his eyes. They close, open, close, open. He feels his pupils dilate, adjusting to this light he forgot a long time ago. He feels joy, pride, loss, hatred. He runs again, wanting to see the light’s source behind the giant building, wanting to feel the sun kissing his skin. He runs and runs and stops. The sun is orange, yellow, red, and it seems brighter than any other day, days he can’t remember. No clouds, no rain, just the sun greeting all of them with its warmth. People jump around him, they jump down the cliff, down to the ocean. Because around them, there is no earth, no ground for them to run. Only water. No way to escape, no way to fly, just the ocean’s salty water. They all jump, maybe to their death, maybe to their freedom, and for a second Tyler mixes them up. He thinks of Josh, Josh, dead inside the building, who forgot the sun a long time ago, who wanted to see this sea, this ocean that is mocking Tyler. Tyler cries. He walks to the edge. He looks down, everyone’s floating. He looks up, no one’s flying. Down, up. He thinks of everyone, who could be jumping down, drowning or swimming to a new land. Tyler turns his back to the water, looks up at the sun and, smiling, closing his wet eyes, he falls.

          Today, the sun is bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, at least this one's finished. Glad it's over. Maybe it was a stupid idea to even start a story like this, I don't know. But know it's okay.
> 
> I won't post in the Joshler tag for a while, I have enough of writing Joshler ? I still love it, but I want to try something else. At least it's like Septiplier, where I started to hate the ship because of how toxic it became. Now, I kinda love Todomomo, so... Meh, we'll see.
> 
> Thanks for anyone who kept on reading this, really, I don't know how you did. Buut thanks anyway, I highly appreciate this. Thank you :3
> 
> Sur ce, buh-bye ~

**Author's Note:**

> So, frens, I have some things to say.  
> This fic was, at first, written for the Septiplier tag. instead of Tyler, Josh and (other characters) were Jack, Mark and their friends. But something happened, many dramas and shits, so I decided to stop it. I recently read it again and, whoof, that was, hum, bad. So I just kept the general idea and the title and wrote it all over again. Now, it's with Twenty One Pilots ! I really hope it's okay.  
> Tags will be added as the story goes on (I already finished it). And now that I look at the execution passage, I see that this one is really weak. The others after that will be really graphic. But I won't spoil.  
> Sur ce, buh-bye ~


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